Pereo, Peres, Peret
by FantasyLover9199
Summary: "Come here," she mouthed at him. Her heart sped up as Bruce walked towards her. He looked better than she remembered. Oh, how could she even think of draining the sternness from those sapphire blue eyes. The precious gems of the Prince of Gotham. Bruce's heart was beating faster than hers. Rating may be raised. T for foul language and sexual references.
1. Overture

_Chapter One. _

"Hello, hello, hello!" Chief CFO of Wayne Enterprise's wife, Tanya Fox, welcomed the Lawliet's with kisses to their hollowed cheeks.

"I know you weren't expecting our Clara back," Iris Lawliet whispered to her fellow socialite as they entered the spacious ballroom, as if it was confidential information. "I hope there isn't any trouble."

"Of course, yes, it's quite alright, I'll just get - _Alfred!_ - an extra seat put in." Tanya called out to the nearest butler, "Are you home for the weekend, Clara?"

Removing her goatskin gloves, and her Burberry hobo to the aging butler with a charismatic smile, although refusing to part with her jacket, Clara was not out of place. Gossamer brown hair and small diamond studded ears, and a intense hunger for some of the butler's red velvet cake petit fours.

Clara smiled, a smile that people try to imitate in their antique floor mirrors. The smile of sociopaths or supermodels. "No I'm here to-" Clara started to say.

Clara's mother cut her off hastily. "Clara decided Tokyo wasn't for her."

Iris Lawliet was the middle-aged version of Clara, in fact, the entire Lawliet family was the family of 'coolness.' They did nothing - not hailing a taxi, eating spaghetti, or cutting hundreds out of jobs and onto the streets - without maintaining their cool. Clara especially. She was gifted with the coolness you cannot acquire by just buying the right shoes or studying Vogue like a bible. She was the girl boys wanted to date, and the girl girls wanted to be.

Or kill.

"Clara will be attending the Midsummer Orphan Fundraiser tomorrow." Mister Tyler Lawliet said, staring at his daughter with a mixture of pride and disapproval with steel-blue eyes. There was a rumour that he had sent orphans to labs in South America for his drug testing.

"Well, Clara, you look lovely dear, Bruce will love to see you." Tanya complemented.

"You're the one to talk," Clara trilled, hugging her. "The Wayne Manor is so beautiful now, wow. There's all this new stuff!"

Obviously pleased, Tanya wrapped a bony arm around Clara's hip and steered her to her husband and a group of men she recognized immediately. "Darling, this is Clara Lawliet, she's just gotten back from Tokyo. Lucius, Clara."

"Clara," a man she recognized as the husband of CEO Kara Yale, a leader in foreign model agencies and a man with a long history of sexual offences. He kissed Clara on both cheeks and hugged her a little too tightly. "Good hugger," he laughed, patting her on the hip.

Clara giggled, but didn't flinch. She spent a lot of time with horny businessmen in Japan, who had found her irresistible, and died happy. Good for Peter, she had come unarmed.

"Bruce and Clara were in a relationship before college," Tanya told the growing crowd around Clara. She stood on tiptoe as she was surrounded by old families, who kissed and hugged her as they battled welcome with rapture and loathing. "After -"

But Clara wasn't listening anymore. Her dark blue eyes searched the room, looking for the one person she wanted to see most, Bruce.

Finally, she found him, Bruce, standing by the doorway in the hall, and a woman just behind him, her head bowed, fiddling with the buttons on her black cardigan dress. Bruce was looking directly at Clara, and when her gaze met his, there was one expression.

Horror.

Then, as soon as it came, it vanished. And then he smiled.

She was so glad he wasn't dead yet.

"Come here," she mouthed at him. Her heart sped up as Bruce walked towards her. He looked better than she remembered. Oh, how could she even think of draining the sternness from those sapphire blue eyes. The precious gems of the Prince of Gotham.

Bruce's heart was beating faster than hers.

"Hey, you," Clara breathed as Bruce stood beside her. He smelled different, now. Cologne and hard work. No longer the cleanest, most delicious boy alive. But a man. Tears welled in Clara's eyes as she pressed her face into his suit. Now she was really home.

Bruce's cheeks flushed for a moment. Calm down, he told himself. But he couldn't. He wanted to pick her up, twirling her around, and kissing her face. He wanted to tell her - but he couldn't.

He is Batman, irrevocable in his quest to free Gotham from the corrupt, foul and the wicked. A soul unforgiving, unrelenting, a mission that is clear. Putting up walls to protect his lethal mind and shattered soul, even against his partners.

So he's a little lacking in the hugs department.

"So what have you been up to?" Bruce asked, trying to breathe normally. "Everyone missed you."

"Oh Bruce," Clara drawled, giggling. "If you only knew, Bruce, I've been so, so bad!"

Bruce clenched his fists involuntarily, God, oh God how he had missed her.

* * *

_Authors Note, _

_I just wanted you all to know I fell asleep writing this up. _

_That is all. _


	2. Through The Grapevine

_Chapter Two._

Ignored as usual, Peter slunk away from the group of corrupt businessmen and crossed the room to where the woman with the black cardigan and her flock of overdressed ladies.

"A thousand bucks says she got expelled," Peter told them, taking a swig of drink. "And doesn't she looked screwed? I heard she had a one-woman ring up there. The Merry Mistress of Tokyo," he added with a snort. "She does it with you, then she kills you, and eats you with rose gold chopsticks while you're still warm. Like some sushi."

_Getting a little carried away with your own fantasies aren't you, Peter? _Kara Reynolds thought as she pushed a dark orange lock behind her ear, exposing her zillion karat rubies.

"She looks a little spaced out, too." Olivia Fields, heiress to a large steel production factory and known for her addiction to ecstasy. "Maybe she's on heroin?"

"Or some Japanese drug," tag-along Lisa Collins offered. "You know, or maybe she's been abducted by Korean forces and they're, like, controlling her brain for information. The Koreans are known for doing that, you know, kidnapping Japanese citizens off the beach and forcing them to talk about the outside world."

"She could be making her own drugs," Olivia said. "She has a science major."

"What is that on the edge of her jacket? Wine?"

"No, blood," Peter jumped back in. "Disgusting. I heard she joined some cult."

_When is dinner going to be ready?_ Kara wondered, tuning out her friends and their ridiculous gossip. Clara was too beautiful and sweet to join some Japanese cult, or torture or kill anyone. Kara was the one who had to do the fetal pig dissection in biology because Clara was queasy.

She had forgotten how prepossessing Clara was, how long her hair was, how thin her legs were, how her skin was like cream. What Bruce's eyes were doing when he looked at her, like he never wanted to blink. He never looked at_ her _that way, the conniving asshole. She wanted to kill him for looking at Clara like that. Rip his still beating heart out of his chest and give it to him, right in his hand, and watch him see his heart stop beating.

"Hey, Kara, Clara told you she was coming back," Peter grinned. "C'mon, tell us, what's up?"

Kara stared at him, blinking, her small oval shaped face turning a shade of vivid cerise. The truth, despite what she had been telling people, was that she and Clara hadn't spoken in two years, unless you count the four impersonal messages she had received over the whole course.

Kara had tucked the postcards in a Fendi shoebox with the rest of the memories of her friendship lost. A friendship she would've cherished forever, a friendship she thought was over, until now. Now they would be the infamous Kara and Clara, Clara and Kara. As always, Kara would play the smaller, fatter, less witty best friend of the blonde wonder Clara Lawliet.

"Careful, Kara," Peter warned, nodding to Bruce and Clara, who were still talking by the champagne, their eyes never straying from each others faces. "Looks like she's found her next victim."

Not if she could help it, anyway.

* * *

Clara held Bruce's hand in hers, swinging it back and forth. At least she'd have a memory to cherish before he died.

"Do you remember that night?" Clara asked, studying Bruce's face. They weren't smiling now.

"That night," Bruce repeated. Of course he remembered. How could he forget?

_Alfred was going to be out very late, the housemaids had the day off, and Bruce and Clara had the place to themselves. Oddly enough, it was the first time they had been alone together, without their posse of fellow rising socialites and without the watchful eye of Alfred. _

_They sat out in the garden, Clara alternating her cigarette and wine and Bruce just nursing his own glass. Bruce was wearing a Ralph Lauren polo and the sun was hot, so he took it off. His shoulders were well muscled and pale from hours in the training room, exorcising his thoughts of Clara as he lifted weights. _

_Clara was hot, too, so she climbed into the fountain. Sitting on the statue of Aphrodite's feet and splashing herself with water until the dress was soaked through. _

_It was hard to decipher who the real goddess was. Bruce walked over to the fountain and pulled her to her feet, and soon they were pulling each other's clothes off. It was July, and the only way to tolerate Gotham in July is to get naked. Bruce was worried Alfred would come home early, and pulled Clara to his room. _

_The rest is ancient history. _

_They had both had sex for the first time. It was awkward and painful and exciting and fun. It was exactly like you'd want your first time to be, and they had no regrets. Afterwards, Bruce turned on the TV to discover that a shark had attacked several people over the course of the week as they swam in the Black Sea. Holding each other and listening to the narrator it didn't take long for Clara to start laughing. _

"_Your shark attacked my Sea!" She howled, burying herself into the pillows. _

_Bruce laughed and wrapped her in the sheets like a mummy. Then, unwrapping her he bared his teeth and pretended to be a shark and attacked her Red Sea until they both passed out from exhaustion. _

Clara didn't seem to notice Bruce's trip to the past, she sighed, bowing her head to rest it on his shoulder. She no longer smelled like honey and sandalwood and irises, she smelled like Prada's Infusion D'Iris and something he couldn't quite identify. Blood?

"Oh, Bruce," Clara sighed, wishing this scene would never end. "If you only knew how evil I was, you wouldn't even be talking to me."

"What do you mean, what could you have done that was so bad?" Bruce asked with a mixture of dread and anticipation. For a brief second he imagined her hosting one-woman parties in her loft in Tokyo, having affairs with businessmen right in their own homes.

"What did you do, Clara?"

* * *

_Author's Note, _

_Sorry I'm cutting this chapter short. The next chapter may be up this Saturday, it just depends. _

_Bye!_


	3. Dream Up In Smoke

_Chapter 3._

Startled, Bruce and Clara tore their gazes from one another. It was Peter, Lisa, Olivia and last, but not least, Kara, looking very shy _indeed_.

Peter clapped Bruce on the back, "Sorry, Bruce," he said. "But you can't keep the Lawliet all night, you know?"

Bruce let out a chuckle, then threw back his glass, there was only ice left.

Alfred had just put a sizzling pot of cod fondue on the side table a few feet away from them. Sharp, long-handled fondue forks ringed the pot. Kara wanted to grab one, stab Clara through her annoyingly swan like neck until the fork came right through the other side, grab Bruce, whisk him away to the bedrooms upstairs where they could finally have sex without interruption.

Bruce noticed the tension, but he thought it was for an entirely different reason. Was he being that obvious? He was 'Brucie' a playboy with an unmistakable knack for business deals, not a sick romantic lover boy, Christ.

It was a chilly moment, not the kind you expected to have with your old, close friends. It was more of a grisly face off before a women's wrestling match.

All six of them were silent for a good, long, tense moment.

Bruce rattles the ice cubes in his glass. "Who wants another?" He offered, "My butler will make them."

Clara held out her glass. "Thanks Bruce," she said. "I'm so thirsty. They locked the booze cabinet on the jet, and took away all the belts and scarves. Can you believe it?"

"If I have another drink, I'll be hungover for that brunch at eleven tomorrow," Lisa said.

Olivia laughed, everyone winced. "You're always hungover." She passed her glass to Bruce. "Here, we'll split one."

"Let me give you a hand," Peter offered.

Before the boys could get started on refills. A waiter stumbled out through the doors, clutching his head. His face was blotchy and covered in a film of perspiration. In fact, Clara frowned, he looked a lot worse than when she had bumped into him on her way out of the kitchen. He sank to his knees in the middle of the dance floor.

"Isaac?" Alfred asked carefully as the music stopped. He had sent the poor boy to get the red velvet petit fours when Clara Lawliet arrived.

Isaac stared around him with red rimmed eyes and blue tinged lips.

"Clllllaaaarrr..." he slurred. Clara blanched as he vomited red cake and blood all over the floor.

Oops.

"Call an ambulance!" Alfred shouted as Isaac's eyes bulged.

"Clllllaaaaa...!" Isaac wheezed out, clutching his face.

Bruce glanced at Clara. Isaac was trying to say her name and Clara was just standing there, staring at him like a statue.

"They're on their way!" Another waiter shouted.

Clara reached for Bruce's hand, suddenly grateful that this was happening to Isaac, not him. Bruce's eyes were too beautiful and he was too precious to poison like some rodent. Isaac wasn't going to make it, but what could she do?

Isaac reached into his pocket, and with enormous mental strength he grabbed a cake, and rolled it to her feet. Clara backed into the drink cart, knocking over thirty year old wines. His eyes bulged impossibly. And then, they exploded.

Finally, as her stomach visibly rebelled and Clara shot to her feet, scraping her heels and running down the hall to an adjoining bedroom and bath.

"Clara?" Bruce called after her, he stood up and hurried to follow, pushing past frantic elites.

Alfred gathered all the other blue-collar workers in the middle of the chaos and they shepherded the guests into the second dining room and shut the pocket doors.

* * *

Clara leaned over the toilet and stuck her middle finger in as far as it would go, her eyes began to tear and her stomach convulsed as she dropped in the syringe.

The door to the bathroom was only half-way closed, and Bruce could hear his old girlfriend retching inside.

"Clara it's me," Bruce called, "Are you alright?"

"I'll be out in a minute," Clara snapped, wiping her mouth, looking down in the toilet she saw the contents of the poison syringe she stood up and flushed the toilet.

Bruce pushed the door open and Clara turned to look at him. "I'm fine," she said. "Really."

Bruce put the lid down on the toilet seat and sat down. "Don't lie to me, Clara. We know everything about each other."

"We did," Clara said, reaching for a toothbrush and toothpaste and began brushing her teeth furiously. "When was the last time we talked? Five years ago?"

Bruce looked down at his blood stained dress shoes. "I know. I'm sorry Clara."

The two eyed each other warily for a moment.

Clara tugged her jacket off and looked in the mirror, a cold eyed steely warrior stared back at her. One with great taste in black silk.

"We're missing the espresso," Clara announced, and abruptly left the bathroom.

_Damn,_ Bruce thought.

When she returned to the table, Lisa was on her second helping of pudding, and Olivia was crying silently into a napkin. Across the table, Peter raised his glass to her as she sat down, and she reached for her wine glass, gripping the delicate base. It broke and the remaining red wine sloshed between her fingers and stained the tablecloth.

Clara's lips curled back in a sneer. No way would Bruce and his followers get away with the rumours and stealing his soul and heart.

Someone, someone at that very table, was going to die.

* * *

_Authors Note: _

_-_- Don't worry! The sons of batman are coming next chapter! _


End file.
